


Theory of Sensibility

by euncheols



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Fluff, M/M, Poetry, betweenyouandme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8341918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euncheols/pseuds/euncheols
Summary: The closest thing Seungcheol ever wrote about Jihoon is that he was simple. Simply irritating, simply loving.(Maybe all of the words Seungcheol is looking for his poetries went far gone with the wind as they blended in with the whispered notes from Jihoon’s compositions.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> BETTER LATE THAN NEVER, HOLY FUCK!!
> 
> i'm late. by eh... 3 days on the original setting. how gracious of me. thankfully late submissions are still allowed so me, eirin, your local 24-hour trash, is here!!
> 
> i've been through a lot of hardships regarding general anxiety, but especially when it came to my writing (i even deleted a couple stuff i had posted here). i've felt sad and unwilling to write anything, so this work is actually very, very important to me. just recently, i saw a flash of inspiration, which finally made me complete this fully and now that i'm finally posting this, i'm really glad and relieved
> 
> by the way, the song that introduces this fic is (a poorly translation by yours truly) from roberta campos - minha felicidade!! it has a nice feeling and i wish y'all could listen to it if you can!! fellow brazilian ladies hit me up ;)
> 
> i'd like to thank lae & ny for hosting the ficfest so diligently and i like to thank the people who always support my writings against all odds - this goes to miro, clara, vivi, lele and andreia!! i hope you're all able to enjoy it!! ♡

 

 

_Me, you, the sun, the sea_

_And a million more of landscapes for us to see_

_Because I could carry well my whole life_

_Without worrying about happiness_

 

_Every scenery feels gray without you_

_Every declaration of love without a reason why_

_And that’s why I thank the heavens today_

_Being with you, being with you_

 

 

\--

 

 

An author is a person who begins and creates something.

Seungcheol liked to think of himself as an author. He truly saw pride in the title, ever since he was little.

 

He begins to write with a red crayon and a yellow sheet, mirroring the motions he just memorized as he tries to write his own name. He doesn’t know then, that it feels more like drawing than writing, but seeing his parents cheer him on with little claps of joy makes him, unconsciously, know that he did something good. Sloppy characters evolve into a cleaner handwrite as variations of names evolve into small sentences, which evolve to longer sentences and then become a constant before blooming into poetry.

The first lyrics under his name fall onto paper under a rainy afternoon when the whole world seems to be drowning, judging on the mistiness of his bedroom windows and the resonance in his roof of the loud droplets falling from the sky. Small rhymes sorted in a humble makeshift sonnet about the seemingly incessant pit-patter of the rain against the ceiling are his, dare say, first artwork, the first time that writing felt different from doting conjunctions of syllables in trimmed sheets. And for all it was, it felt good.

As he grows up, his interests take a variation from writing, but he never completely gives up on it. In fact, his skills improve with time and he becomes more and more interested on it. Small poems and fiction seep their way into his notebooks, curly handwriting giving life to the stories he thinks about before going to sleep. Seungcheol reaches the highest point of his works once he finds inspiration in hip-hop and rap music. It’s different from all he’s ever seen and it’s wonderful, the gears in his mind going faster with the prospect of the world that he hears in the lyrics.

It’s then when Seungcheol learns that stories aren’t all about writing and reading, but listening as well.

 

Complete is a small café placed conveniently nearby his apartment. It was well known for it’s endearing simplicity, letting the customers feel at ease with decent food and a light mood provided by the decoration of white walls, wooden tables and quality music from the black grand piano placed on a exposed corner of the shop that serves as a stage, with a microphone stand on the side. One of the managers, Eunkwang, was a big fan of classic music and plays the piano himself. The live music makes the ambience of the café so much pleasant than any other places, being one of the main reasons why Seungcheol likes to frequent it.

The other reason for his unspeakable fidelity lies in the other side of the café. Truthfully speaking, Complete is a name that fits well the establishment. At the end of the afternoon shift, the atmosphere becomes completely different from the peaceful daylight mood. During the later shift, the café is a place where slam poetry contests are held during Wednesdays, Thursdays and Friday nights. Minhyuk, the other manager, has always been a fan of hip-hop and rap music. With illumination of orange lights, Complete changes the atmosphere entirely, with the piano forgotten as contestants pour their hearts out in words.

Under a stage name, S.Coups, Seungcheol finds himself too letting the words in his mind quickly flee from the papers and resonate through his voice. He still has a long way to go, but he likes the way it sounds, the way he’s able to transmit his feelings through his words. It’s something new, enough to make his stomach fill with fluttering butterflies.

 

Writing is pleasant, satisfying. Receiving compliments from literature teachers for his young excellence in his little poems and lyrics during his school years became just the right ingredient to boost his ego, make him flash a smile that showcase his dimple. It’s rewarding, but fame and recognition aren’t exactly the reasons he stays up late thinking of words that could look pretty on paper.

The same way Seungcheol doesn’t write for success, success doesn’t write for Seungcheol.

He’s talented and everyone knows it. However, the windows of his heart that he opens and scribbles down on countless notebooks aren’t enough for publishers. It’s with a heavy heart that he acknowledges that not everything he does looks pleasant for everyone.

Numbers could have been good to present the facts without further ado, but Seungcheol has been rejected so many times he has lost count of them. Apparently romances aren’t appreciated as much nowadays, even if he still thinks his characters has depth. A couple hundred of pages about soulmates and flowers or pages about rubies and regret, among so many of the works he has insisted in shove down publisher’s emails - none of them make it, sent back with condolences about his lack of approval.

It’s not perfect, but what can you do.

Not everything is as bad as his dramatic self might suggest. He still has a job that enables him to do what he loves - writing. In a rather small press company, he’s in charge of some small releases. Jimin, his editor and in charge of the writing department, often offers guidance for both his releases related to work and to the slam contest. Curiously, he finds out that his pretty and petite editor used to be one of the most well-known rappers at Complete, a living legend of her own, a true Diva, like her stage name back then hinted.

It was difficult to process the information when he first heard it - Seungcheol and any other person that ever went to Complete knew about her lyrics, her steady flow and unique voice. Jimin would laugh it off, claiming that it was nothing with a wave of her hand, that she saw better days during the time she used to do her presentations. Even as she says that, she’s still wearing a bright smile behind her sheepish eyes. From then on, Jimin would then adopt and help Seungcheol with his writing in everything she could. She would constantly joke that maybe it’s because she can see Seungcheol could make it big if he just tried harder than she ever did.

Maybe, Seungcheol thinks. Although he doesn’t really believe her that much. But in the back of his mind, with a tiny smile basked by the moonlight and a cup of coffee on a Thursday night, he likes to dream about it. It could have been fun.

But currently that’s not his focus, a playtime rather than anything. With the corner of his eyes, he can see Jimin squinting her eyes at him for a few seconds from the glass window of her separate office. Seungcheol waves back only for her to huff indignantly, tapping her wrist as to rush him with the editorial he has to hand in today. Visibly gulping, he redirects his attention back to the screen, but not before seeing her hand a stack of papers for another one of his colleagues, Seunghyub. He feels slightly sorry for his superior, but that’s how it is.

This is going to be a long afternoon, Seungcheol hums for himself. Still not perfect, but it’s with a smile that he begins to tap and words gain form on the document screen in front of him.

 

An author is a person who begins and creates something. Seungcheol is glad that he’s one too.

 

 

\--

 

 

To being and create something is something easy to say freely of responsibilities. The problem lies when it comes to the actual work.

A song he’s never heard plays on the automatically generated random playlist of his phone, and the lyrics go a little bit like “words don’t come easy” in a husky, pleasant voice and Seungcheol absolutely relates to them.

They truly don’t, if the way he’s spending the afternoon curled around the computer is of any indication. In a few months Seungcheol’s supposed to introduce pages for his first book release and only to think about the words “his” and “book” arranged this neatly in the same sentence is enough to make his heart speed in anxiety.

Everything could have gone well, surely, if only he could have the inspiration to do so. He knows what he wants to write and how he wants to write, however, the pages before him are still embarrassingly incomplete, with countless structures of three dots and a few question marks scattered around paragraphs that lack of a true context and purpose yet.

It’s difficult, feeling something stopping himself every time, sighing loudly as he stares to his work or lack thereof. Although he doesn’t have the same care with different subjects, when it comes to writing, Seungcheol is truly a perfectionist - and the way nothing looks right is enough to make his blood boil in sheer frustration.

The digital clock provided by the right side of his computer screen doesn’t exactly suply solace to his dismay - the minutes go by oh so slowly, almost on purpose. He works on other small releases for the company in the meantime and it’s ironic of how fast he can manage to finish those, his face contorting in a tired frown once he notices that there’s still many hours left before he can go home.

Writing is Seungcheol’s passion, something like a first love, something he adores with all of his heart. It should be easy. He’s an author, it’s to be expected that he excels at that. Still, he doesn’t know what to break the block of his creative flow and that only seems to stress him out more, hands running through his recently dyed black locks in exasperation.

Another minute completes without a single new word typed.

 

Going home is his currently preferred option, but Seungcheol knows that he won’t be able to rest if he falls into the silence of his humble apartment. When he least expects, he’ll be feeling the usual rush of guilt and open his notebook, only to be greeted with the blinking of the word bar that adds to his already fair share of a writer’s block.

He decides then that a visit to Complete couldn’t hurt.

It’s a Thursday night and today he’ll only be attending as audience. He neither has the confidence nor prepared words this time to take the steps to the small stage. So instead he cheerily greets Minhyuk on his way inside and settles by the usual table, one in the far corner that grants a good view of the stage without being dangerously close to it - and puts away his jacket and bag to the side.

The sun is already gone from site, stars glinting quietly in the first hours of the night, and Seungcheol knows it’s a little too early for the presentations to begin, even if he can recognize some faces among the small crowd for Complete’s night shift.

Most of them prefer to showcase their poems under stage names, but Seungcheol has been frequenting the place long enough for him to call out some familiar faces by their birth names. There’s Mingyu, the tall new kid who keeps fumbling with his papers as he nervously tries to memorize his lines. There’s Minjun, also known as Lito, who cooly waits around in his table of friends, who fails as a group in keeping their tones down. There’s also Sojung, better known as Exy, a raw talent in her own glory, dubbed as one of the café’s rap goddesses, attracting herself even a fanclub of girls only, an amusing sight on its own.

Among all of these people, there’s one that Seungcheol doesn’t quite remember ever seeing. For the record, he has quite the memory, so he would have known if he saw a cute figure, with apparent soft blonde hair and apparently shorter than himself, judging from his silhouette positioned on the table up front. For the brief moment he looks around, Seungcheol can’t help but think he looks good - small fiery eyes glinting below one of the orange eyes. The action doesn’t last for more than a minute, but it’s enough time for Seungcheol to settle on his initial feeling that the petite guy must be something else.

By the side of said person, there’s someone he would recognize anywhere. Jeon Wonwoo is, on top of being a close friend to Seungcheol, one of the most talented people he has ever seen. His works are a perfect blending of literature and poetry and he always takes the presentations a level above. Seungcheol feels compelled to sit on the table and talk to him for a while - but he’d rather not embarrass himself in front of someone new. Although people say he has a suave appearance, Seungcheol isn’t all of that cool, and trip around his words in front of the small blonde he’s suddenly taken an interest in seems like a pathetic way to introduce himself.

Once Wonwoo and the blonde step on stage, they bow respectfully before Wonwoo adjusts the microphone and the other sits by the piano, fiddling with the keys as a test. Realization dawns on him slowly - It’s been a good while since Seungcheol saw someone use the piano to accompany their rhymes. Usually every presentation is done with little to no background music - silence is sometimes a good companion to the impact that some contestants mean to transmit.

It’s an unforgettable presentation. Wonwoo’s voice falls into words of tiredness perfectly with the company of the piano. It’s as if he’s singing a song, but instead, the words are harsh, painful, everything wraps in a soft and sad manner altogether, leaving the whole café speechless for the entirety of his presentation. More than that, Seungcheol sees the blonde playing with so much passion, conveying his heart into the melody at the same time it brings peace and softness, as if telling things will be okay in the end. It’s a sight out of this world.

The music stops and so does the presentation, still the feeling of astonishment hanging in the air. Before announcing the next participants, Minhyuk asks for a round of applause for Wonwoo and a special guest for the night, Jihoon – _Jihoon_ , he repeats in his head, as if he’s not supposed to forget – who is showered in praise as he gives a small smile and another respectful bow before retreating to his seat.

 

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him anymore, a little afraid that their gazes meet again, but his mind is filled with cotton, wind and a emotional melody and until the time he lays his head on his pillow he’s unable to forget the name - Jihoon.

 

 

\--

 

 

The second time Seungcheol meets Jihoon is by another trick of destiny.

The second time Seungcheol meets Jihoon, the younger is still hurled across the piano, fingers sliding from key to key delicately, almost as if it was easy.

Although close to his workplace, he’s not familiar with these surroundings, not at all, passing by just for the sake of delivering a couple half-assed composed reveries to Jimin before being completely allured by the sound that comes from the inside of the store.

There’s not much he can grasp from his decidedly poor overview of the store – the glasses surrounding the building are dark, unusual for a purpose of selling. He doesn’t understand much about modern architecture and all of that, but he’s sure the design of the store, although beautiful, should be less... intimidating.

Without his command, his feet push him inside the store, enabling his entrance. The tinkling of the bell above the door interrupts the magic that draws Seungcheol to the beautiful music. One step in and he regrets entering, responsible to have a figure of blonde hair staring directly at him from his spot on the piano bench. The staring goes on until said blonde gets tired of looking at him, settling with completely ignoring Seungcheol’s presence and redirecting his attention to the instrument.

Seungcheol wants to say something, but the words die on the back of his throat whenever he opens his mouth, watching as the blonde rearranges some music sheets in front of him. Soon enough, the music reemerges, flowing softly and melodiously alluring, just like the first time. It’s a different song for what it seems, and yet the sound still flows uniquely, as if the peacefulness the music brings is a permanent characteristic of the pianist.

“Jihoon-ah, could you-“

Seungcheol almost doesn’t notice when someone else enters the room. A woman dressed in a navy blue shirt with white stripes and black pencil skirt walks in, long black hair fluttering and heels clacking against the wooden floor as she does so. There’s a bronze nametag attached to her shirt but Seungcheol can’t exactly make what’s written from the distance. She sends a short glance towards Jihoon before smiling sympathetically towards Seungcheol.

“Good afternoon, I’m Yuna,” she bows respectfully, long black hair falling upfront, “Is there anything I could help you with?”

Before he can even think of a reply, Jihoon beats him to it, turning fully towards them. “He’s here to listen.”

Her smile doesn’t falter, even if Seungcheol thinks she could have been angered over the fact that he entered the store without doing as much as take a look around the instruments. Either way, she retreats her way back to the balcony, humming pleasantly to a familiar tune.

It’s a little awkward as Jihoon doesn’t resume playing and leaves Seungcheol to stare at his back without knowing what to do, Yuna nowhere at sight either. He feels weird, like he should be saying something relevant, so he clears his throat in an attempt of small talk, eliciting a reaction from the younger.

“Do you work at the music store?”

Jihoon chuckles at that, and instead of searching the source of such amusement, Seungcheol settles in analyzing in detail the way small dimples appear in his face once he smiles. “Sort of,” he replies, “Noona pays me to play some songs, even though I’m basically just studying and training. She seems to like it anyway and she doesn’t ask me to help around with other things either.”

Seungcheol nods in acknowledgement.

“What… What about you?” Jihoon says in a small, awkward voice, as he means to keep the silence away from them.

“I… Write.”

His eyebrows go up for a couple seconds. “Oh.”

“I write some press articles and poems on my spare time. For the slam poetry contest too. There’s no definite really… I just like writing.”

“Can you show me? Your poems, I mean.”

“Why?”

“I’m not really good with words, if you haven’t noticed,” Jihoon says and Seungcheol likes the sweet-acid tone of his voice once he laughs at the end of his sentence.

Retreating some of his current favorites from his bag, Seungcheol hands the sheets with shaking hands, somehow even more nervous than when he has to deliver something important to Jimin. The way Jihoon seems to be looking at every detail of his writing is somehow scary, never once feeling so much intensity from a person alone.

After what feels like forever, Jihoon smiles. “That’s really good.”

Seungcheol feels like he’s going to cry, “You mean it?”

“Yes, I did, stop making me repeat myself,” he says and Seungcheol laughs happily, handing him a couple more sheets.

“Oh, but there’s a price to that,” he feels playful and relaxed enough to say that now and Jihoon glares at him. “Play me another song.”

Jihoon looks a little surprised at first, but soon complies: the store is filled now with a kind melody, one that makes Seungcheol sway in his feet and peace to settle in his troubled mind and heart.

 

 

\--

 

 

The perfectly harmonized notes from the piano aren’t the only thing that takes Seungcheol to Jihoon. Neither the pretty words scribbled in small notebooks are what brings Jihoon to Seungcheol.

 

Yuna is more than kind to allow Seungcheol inside the store when he pleases. Not only she has grown to enjoy his presence when he watches Jihoon perform to the walls, but they also find out that she is a very close friend of Jimin. On her own words, “everyone unnie is friends with is my friend too”.

Jihoon doesn’t seem to be bothered as much. Seungcheol even thinks he might like it too, since their conversations flow so naturally, complementing in small talks here and there and becoming fully thought exchange of words. Jihoon has something about him that makes Seungcheol talk more than he’s used to. He’s good at listening - even when he has his back to the older as he plays a few keys, testing the sound here and there, never losing his attention from neither of tasks.

Sometimes, they find themselves over a cup of coffee at Complete and on others they find themselves thinking about art on the piano shop. It’s the way they do things, something theirs and Seungcheol likes the way the world seems to be so much more than it is when he’s with Jihoon.

With baby steps, they easily can refer to each other as friends, as if they spent their whole lives together. Even when their schedules don’t exactly match, their bond doesn’t lose itself any less. Among a few afternoons at the store and night presentations at the café, they slowly and surely find themselves close one to the other.

 

Life is always happening.

 

A theory of sensibility is a philosophic critique of point-view in order for someone to declare understanding and reason, a way to explain someone’s sensibility about something.

 

There were things that Seungcheol doesn't understand and there were things that Jihoon doesn't understand.  
  
Certainly, it happens due to the exaggerated stubbornness from both sides. A fragile and easily hurt pride, among many others, was a common trait about the two of them. The meeting of thoughts could never reach a half term - they would either completely agree or would disagree in every aspect with the other. Among almost petty discussions and divergent opinions, they learnt something new, plain and significative. Of course, it was nothing that they would voice aloud, one would never hand such a satisfaction of being wrong to the other. Still, it was nothing that the glint of their eyes could hide.

 

Little by little, Seungcheol learnt a bit about music at the same time Jihoon learnt a bit about poetry.

Seungcheol writes with different letters than Jihoon. Perhaps no poem could match the words Jihoon writes in dos and res, notes written in symbols he couldn't understand at all. However, these symbols united to the soft harmony from the piano, became beautiful melodies echoing around the walls of the café and the music shop. The younger's compositions were too mesmerizing to be true - Seungcheol strongly believed that they were magic, an alluring spell that attracts people to his songs.

Seungcheol finds himself easily falling in for the sweet melodies that leave the piano’s keys and Jihoon’s lips.

Funnily enough, Jihoon's presentations were usually mute. Mute as in the vocal sense, since Jihoon refused to sing during his concerts. Seungcheol couldn't understand why, since during their practices Jihoon would sing freely to his heart's content. He had a beautiful voice and his whisper-like tone blended so well with the piano music. Either way, he never pointed it out. For some reason, it felt light, sweet for it to be a secret. It made him feel slightly special, to see a side of Jihoon that he doesn't show to everyone.  
  
They're in a closed room, but somehow Seungcheol feels as if a soft wind has surrounded him.

 

 

\--

 

 

During a Tuesday night once they’re spending the rest of the afternoon on the piano shop, Jihoon casually suggests he’s having a recital on a hotel ballroom nearby.

Seungcheol knew beforehand that Jihoon did things like that - showcases of his skills for an audience with a sophisticated sense, more than the amateur poets down at the café. He was actually pretty famous on the music field, a prodigy, a genius composer of sorts, although said person would continuously deny such title, saying that he’s not all of that. Every time he did that, Seungcheol would roll his eyes while Jihoon would slap his arm not-so jokingly.

It’s with the same casualty that Jihoon suggests that Seungcheol could attend the event if he wanted to, alleging that perhaps he could even find his inspiration back again. Even with such an excuse of expectation, who was the older to deny it. More than recollecting his thoughts, there was a certain thrill to see Jihoon performing for other people, on an actual formal occasion.

With that said, Seungcheol drives his way to the hotel and suddenly he understands why Yuna especifically requested for him to come in his best attire. The place was stupidly fancy, on a part of the city he doesn’t have neither a reason nor money to go to. The front of the hotel is of a glass construction, reflecting on the blue mirrors all of the lights emanating inside and outside of the building.

If the exterior was enough of a show, then the interior manages to become even more splendid. A reception decorated in bright and sophisticated shades of red, white and gold made it look like the hotel was actually a palace than anything else. Everything was shining on it’s on, as if it was made out of a dream, and Seungcheol almost felt embarrassed swimming in the sea of fancy people, as if he couldn’t soil the ground with his old shoes.

He meets Yuna halfway on his way to the auditorium and she smiles at him as she holds the door, elegant as always - her hair tied up on a fancy rendition of a bun as she wore a long black dress with silver adornments on it. It’s thanks to her that Seungcheol saves himself from some severe embarrassment, teaching him a few basics of what he mockingly calls in his head as “recital etiquette”.

Due to distraction, the ambience of the auditorium sinking him in, Seungcheol almost misses the beginning of the presentation. He doesn’t sport fancy binoculars like Yuna does, curling her perfect nails carefully around the stem. But the point isn’t about seeing - everything is all about hearing. He’s far from the stage, but Seungcheol can feel his body light just as if he were seated right by Jihoon’s side. He imagines on the back of his mind Jihoon’s soft, long fingers drumming across the keys with care and precision and he feels his heart dancing in the same calm rhythm.

 

During the whole piece, he’s lost in his own mind, enjoying the sound as if it wasn’t the hundredth time he’s heard it.

 

He never for a second saw anything but talent and dedication in Jihoon’s music, but now he can surely understand why people from all over the world would like to attend to his recitals.

 

 

\--

 

 

Apparently, Jihoon doesn’t like airports.

For someone that constantly crosses the world, for someone that should be used to soar countless times in the skies of different cities with wings made of music, Jihoon passionately dislikes airplane trips with every fiber of his existence. It’s a much different setting than his usual sour antics, a little frightening as well, but that doesn’t steal away Seungcheol’s excitement not even for a second.

For the first time, Seungcheol is serving as company for Jihoon as he’s going for another overseas concert, this time in Milan. Yuna couldn’t go with Jihoon, claiming some business reunion that she couldn’t miss, leaving her ticket in Seungcheol’s hands, who failed miserably in trying to suppress his overflowing giddiness with the kind gesture.

It’s not in his nature to refuse such a kind and easy request and it’s not in him either to refuse anything that has to do with Jihoon.

It’s also the first time that he’s going somewhere further away from home - Europe always sounded so dreamlike, so very distant from his reality - and yet, there he is, side by side with Jihoon as the younger waits for the attendant to hurry up with his documents for their check-in, tapping his foot in an impatient against the floor, much to Seungcheol’s amusement.

Long after the bureaucratic settings are done, documents checked and everything in place, Jihoon allows himself to flop tiredly against one of the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting lobby, pulling out his phone from his handbag, stuffing his earphones on his ears and shutting himself from the ever present frantic buzz from the airport as he closes his eyes and scrunches his nose in annoyance.

Jihoon’s so-called rest doesn’t last for a minute, as he soon opens his eyes and maintains direct eye contact with Seungcheol, who startles in surprise, receiving a glare from other distressed and fatigued passengers.

“I didn’t think you were hired to be my babysitter, hyung,” he deadpans, making Seungcheol snort reflexively, “Stop staring.”

“I’m nervous,” is what the older replies, words escaping his lips when he didn’t mean them to.

“The only fun part is the beginning,” Jihoon allows himself to smile, “The rest of it isn’t even that fun. Don’t worry too much about it.”

Jihoon just have a way with the way he projects his words that makes Seungcheol calm in the next instant, hands unclamping from their uncomfortable position.

 

True to his word, only the first moments are filled with true anxiety and excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

Airplanes are loud, the pressure deafens his ears for a good couple of minutes, and he can feel Jihoon gaze in his shaking hands gripping to his seat as if there was no tomorrow. If he tried a little harder to ignore the pressure, maybe he would be hearing the resonance in Jihoon’s laughter.

Just like that, just as the plane steadies itself in thin air, long after the city lights disappeared from sight is that Seungcheol takes a deep breath, his lungs burning out of missing oxygen. Once again, all Jihoon does is laugh at his evident embarrassment, and Seungcheol mentally whines at Yuna for placing them in the first class seats, as he can sense older people staring at them indignantly.

Soon enough, Seungcheol gets tired of staring to the pitch black sky, clouds barely visible at this point. He notices the now dimmed lights of the plane and thinks about connecting the headphones he was handed too and watch a movie like Jihoon is doing, but he suddenly feels weighed and tired. His vision blurs and just like that, he’s out like a candle, snoring quietly against his own shoulder.

 

Around the thirteenth time he woke up, due to constant and insistent interruptions, mostly from the attendants offering consumables and his trips to the bathroom, they were almost arriving at their destination, as the map on the main screen placed on the wall by the centred corridor indicates. Jihoon looks like he didn’t catch a second of sleep and Seungcheol briefly wonders if he spent all night watching movies, but his mind is still too filled with cotton for him to properly ask it.

His thoughts process a lot faster when the place is suddenly rushing through gravity on the way to the ground and Seungcheol lets out a screech as he once again finds his hands gripping the handles of his seat too tightly. The whole plane starts to shake and he thinks with widened eyes that he’s going to die without ever completing a plane trip.

Jihoon looks all too calm to him for a plane that seems to shake so much and suddenly there’s a nauseating feeling on the tip of his throat. All Jihoon ever does is to place a small, warm hand on top of his for Seungcheol freeze instantly at the contact. They keep staring at each other, without a word being exchanged and Seungcheol doesn’t know what to do. With a slightly stronger shake and the loud squeak of the wheels of the plane hitting against the lane, Seungcheol feels himself slumping against his seat.

He can feel the embarrassment coiling in his blood, but surprisingly, Jihoon doesn’t say anything about it. It makes him feel slightly better, although he lowers his head when one of the attendants suppresses a giggle at his expression.

 

Seungcheol almost cries when they finally find themselves in the hotel room, tiredness taking the best out of him.

He instantly flops in the bed and doesn’t get up until Jihoon protests and says he should at least take a shower before sleeping in.

Taking a pair of comfortable clothes, Seungcheol takes in the sight of Jihoon with his hair wet, white towel still hanging around his neck. He wouldn’t dare voice aloud his thoughts, ones that even surprise him, preventing with difficulty in cooing at how Jihoon looks cute at the same time he prevents himself from saying he looks deliberately hot like this.

The walk to the shower is silent but the awareness of his thoughts is loud inside his head.

 

Not surprisingly, the recital is an evident success.

The auditorium is mesmerizing, almost as if it’s been straight out of a fairytale. It’s vast, spacious - even with a full house, Seungcheol still feels swallowed by the extension of the place. Wooden plaques build the entirety of the place, in a soft, soothing shade of brown. There is an upper corridor, where important guests are seated (and he feels a little uncomfortable to be there, Yuna would have fit the place much better than he would, but he’s too impressed with the view and anticipation for what’s to come to regret it). The stage is huge, it’s like a construction of its own, even if it currently is just occupied by empty chairs and the piano. Seungcheol loses himself thinking of how many people could fit that floor.

With a round of applause and dimming of the lights, Jihoon enters the stage, positioning himself diligently over the piano. His fingers flow delicately with the first song of the night, a youthful and sweet extended version of one of Seungcheol’s favorites, “When I Grow Up”. Although he’s been present for most of the younger’s practices at the café and the store, it’s still a little disconcerting to listen to it without Jihoon’s beautiful singing wrapping the notes around the melody. Nonetheless, it’s still breathtakingly perfect and he can see that he’s not the only one swaying in delight.

It’s refreshing, Seungcheol thinks, to see different people praising Jihoon for his unquestionable musical skills. For most of the time he doesn’t really get what they’re saying - something sounds a little of what he thinks german is like but there’s also a heavy accent that definitely sounds spanish - but he’s happy nonetheless. You don’t have to speak all of the languages in the world to know when someone’s pleased. As long as his sight extends, all he can see is a pleased cheering crowd and a content Jihoon exiting the stage with several bowings in gratitude.

 

Seungcheol kisses Jihoon for the first time under the warm lights of the chandelier and with the empty chairs of the the salon as witnesses.

The lights are already off, save for the chandelier on the center of the room still lit in a dim light. It’s quiet, most of the guests of the dinner after the recital have left already, blabbering no longer filling the ambient as background music to the melodies flowing from the piano. Still, even if reality says otherwise, Seungcheol can still hear it, a sweet symphony resonating in his head, making everything around him feel soft and light, just like the pressure of his lips against Jihoon’s.

He doesn’t really understand why he did that - maybe the compositions are affecting him more than it ever should - because it felt like the right thing to do at the time. He feels oddly content at the same time he slightly regrets his sudden impulse, muttering a small apology as he retreats from the pianist’s line of sight.

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, which is for some reason disappointing, but Seungcheol doesn’t miss the smile in his lips as he turns back to the piano, coordinating a sweeter song as he leaves a dumbfounded Seungcheol standing.

 

The last few of their days in Milan are quiet, peaceful. Jihoon has been there at least five times, so he doesn’t hesitate in taking Seungcheol for the places he enjoys the most, the harsh wind seems to take away all of their worries. His heart skips lightly when it’s like that, just the two of them. The afternoon sun makes the streets filled with tourist buses glow in a shade of golden yellow and the scenery look as it has been straight out of one of the paintings Jihoon mentions as they ramble about art.

And Seungcheol think it’s art too, the way Jihoon’s hand easily curls around his wrist, pulling him along as they walk past the crowds together.

 

Their regress back home is far more peaceful than their departure.

It’s likely because Jihoon is tired beyond belief, so he doesn’t have the energy to tap his foot impatiently against the floor as the attendant takes their time fiddling with their documents. Seungcheol can feel the blonde leaning a lot more on him, asking him to do things in a hoarse, tired voice, which makes the older comply in an instant.

During the major entirety of their trip, Jihoon is asleep, eyes fluttering close as soon as the plane gains stability in the sky. Seungcheol feels like he should be doing the same, drowsiness evident in his unfocused eyes, but he’s still ecstatic about the prospect of flying and seeing the clouds blending in mist before his eyes, a spectacle on its own.

His eyes linger a lot more on Jihoon than it should be socially acceptable on a friendship basis. He gives in, it’s somewhat weird and there’s this voice on his head that tells him that should be looking elsewhere, that the flight attendant is giving him weird stares every time she rolls the cart offering drinks in a complacent voice.

Still, that doesn’t make him back away any less. It’s one of the few times that Jihoon allows his guard to completely crumble, reminding Seungcheol that he’s the older one between them, and not the opposite. Every little detail of him is charming - not like Seungcheol wasn’t aware of it already - but being able to look at him so closely puts everything under a different light.

The way his blonde fringe falls softly against his forehead, the way his small eyes look peaceful when they’re closed, the way his lips part softly with puffed breaths and he looks ethereal beyond belief.

 

Amidst his third or fourth cup of coffee that feels bitter than it should be and fails to emanate warmth through the porcelain mug is when Seungcheol has a calling, an epiphany of sorts - he’s completely, utterly, helplessly in love with Lee Jihoon.

He has a sudden urge, shaking hands frantically searching for his small notebook stuffed in his jeans’ pocket - the one Jihoon gave him for his birthday, with a beige cover and a black strap - and taking a pen out of his jacket pocket as his hands begin to work. His words slip into the paper easily, flowing out in a slurred, blotched writing that in a way, as the letters looks too curved and too rushed, resembles a little too much the lines of a heartbeat monitor, going wild and unstable.

 

If writing is his first love, then Lee Jihoon might as well be his second.

Being below first though doesn’t necessarily mean that it makes his insides burn any less consumingly.

 

(If anything, it’s quite the contrary.)

 

 

\--

 

 

_During the silence of the night, I wonder what it would be like to kiss you. If your lips are as sweet as they look like, or if they reflect the bitterness of the coffee that keeps you awake until sunrise. These are the thoughts that keep me daydreaming, the thoughts that chase you incessantly, like the red wires that connects us, between me and you._

 

“Nowadays your works have quite the sentimentalism,” Jihoon comments with a snort as he removes his round glasses and leans his cheeks against his palm, “Is there any reason for that?”

It’s an afternoon at the café and for once, Jihoon is there just to enjoy himself a cup of coffee, although he is carrying a few music scores. Seungcheol doesn’t expect him, as he works around some unfinished drafts he means to add to his book. Without asking, Jihoon pushes a paper closer to himself and in all honesty, none of them would have minded the lack of manners. The writer just wished Jihoon could have picked any other sheet but this one.

Seungcheol feels his cheeks warmer as he shrugs nonchalantly, failing at subtlety as he directs his eyes to anywhere else but the boy in front of him. Before he can offer a stuttery explanation, Jihoon intervenes, suggesting with a smirk, “Oh, perhaps you found yourself a muse?”

It’s supposed to be a joke and Jihoon doesn’t expect an answer, but his laugh gets louder once he catches on Seungcheol’s evident inability to mask his exaggerated surprised expression upon being partially exposed by none other than him.

“Should I take that as a yes?” the younger claps his hands as he laughs even harder, and Seungcheol wants the ground to swallow him whole once his brain unhelpfully supplies a _“yeah, you”_ fast enough to make his head feel dizzy out of bashfulness, but slow enough to make him stop spilling the words out accidentally.

Laughter is then replaced to a silence, one that isn’t uncomfortable. Jihoon is smiling peacefully as he watches passersby walking outside and Seungcheol mirrors the action. It’s soon going to be summer, if the early summer showers are of any indications, colored flowers from spring falling down and creating a carpet on the sidewalks.

 

Falling in love with Jihoon is similar to a breeze - light, simple and natural.  
  
It's the kind of feeling that doesn't demand effort, something as pure as a gust of wind from the countryside. It's too late for Seungcheol once he sees himself scribbling poems at late hours of evening, pen uselessly scratching against the yellow sheets, failing to express what he means. Another frustrated try joins the others among piles of crumbled paper on a corner of the room as Seungcheol runs his fingers across dark hair in sheer distress with himself.

Seungcheol doesn’t know how to describe Jihoon at all. It feels ironic, that he lacks at words to construct everything he sees in him. Would he put all of the stars in his eyes or would his gaze resemble better embers of a crippling fire? Would he put a peaceful breeze of grassy fields in his voice or would the airiness in his enchanting, almost alluring singing fit better with an ocean wind, like a sea lullaby of sorts?

Regardless of which one would place better in the entirety of Lee Jihoon, Seungcheol supposes he’s the kind of person that words don’t come easy, instead, they scatter around like unfitting puzzle pieces, sentences unable to be constructed when it comes to him.

 

The closest thing Seungcheol ever wrote about Jihoon is that he was simple. Simply irritating, simply loving.

 

The boy with a twinkle in his eyes and indescribable voice would steal away from Seungcheol the words on the tip of his pens and would trade them on an unfair bargain for inconsistent thoughts, all of this without him realizing the process, only taking notice of it once the symptoms began to hit in.

Feverish thoughts, shaking hands, a dead voice on the back of his throat. Everything he felt was Jihoon, everything he thought was Jihoon.

 

Jihoon is the wind and Seungcheol is breathless - it’s love.

 

 

\--

 

 

Everywhere he goes, Jihoon takes a piece of Seungcheol’s heart with him. It’s unintentional, and yet, the latter can feel something missing about himself every time Jihoon has to go away. Recitals, concerts, orchestras - Seungcheol learns in the harsher way that Jihoon’s time slips away and limits itself proportionally to the increase of his recognition and activity.

It’s not as if Jihoon doesn’t care about him anymore. Seungcheol found himself counting the seconds to receive a sign of life, a message, a photo, a video. Jihoon is exaggeratedly busy, yet he has always found time to reply to the older’s texts with colored “good mornings” between inconvenient timezones and pauses between his schedule.

Even so, Jihoon always comes back. Always. The evident tired slump of his body due long trips doesn’t totally eclipses the shimmering of happiness and satisfaction in Jihoon’s eyes, and when he least takes account for, Seungcheol finds himself pulling him closer in a tight hug, livingly smiling upon hearing the weak protests from the younger against his chest.

Every time Jihoon is back, he brings with him the missing pieces of Seungcheol’s heart. Keychains from Los Angeles, postcards from Vienna, tulips from Amsterdam, mugs from Moscow and colored sweets from Tokyo - these are all reminders that Jihoon hasn’t forgotten of him while he was away. These are little evidences that Jihoon has been thinking of him, even if just briefly. And maybe, Seungcheol thinks, as he feels the added weight of a gift in the keys in his pockets, allowing himself a small hope that Jihoon is too bringing pieces of his own heart to Seungcheol isn’t abstract at all.

 

The trips begin to get longer - becoming more exhaustive for Jihoon and heartwrenching for Seungcheol. The pianist never forgets about him, just like every other time, but this time there’s a lingering awareness of the confusion and state of mild loneliness in Seungcheol’s heart - he misses Jihoon’s company.

It’s sad, a little pathetic - his heart is in a full blossom of feelings, petals scattering all around him as he drowns faster and faster in his newfounded love.

 

He’s halfway convinced he might just do something about the feelings that shake his heart like a gale once he raps another faux-confession on Complete’s stage. The way the words leave his lips, the utmost wave of sincerity that washes over his voice makes him shiver slightly from where he’s standing. He can see the marveled eyes of the usual contestants - Wonwoo included, mouth in a shape of an “o” - and it’s the final proof that it takes that those feelings, the ones that makes his head spin aren’t a work of fiction - they’re real.

 

Friday morning, Jihoon is finishing to fold a pristine white shirt into his case as he prepares himself to spend a week in New York in order to attend a music festival when Seungcheol barges in the door to his room and exhales:

 

“Take me with you.”

 

He’s breathless, that much is visible, if the way Jihoon’s eyes watch the rises and falls of his chest with every intake of breath serves for an indication. The younger is patient, he places his clothes neatly to the side of the bed as Seungcheol straightens himself, fumbling with his thumbs in an attempt of aligning his shirt the best he can. “Please, take me with you.”

Jihoon only stares at him and Seungcheol doesn’t know exactly if that’s a positive sign. He nods, indicating that he should carry on with his speech, which makes the older take a deep breath before continue speaking.

“I don’t know where you’re going, but I want to go with you,” Seungcheol says, his voice becoming a mixture of a plead with conviction, “I don’t care where you’re going to, I just want to go with you. You and me, together. I want to take your hand and see the world with you, Jihoon. I just… I just want to be with you.”

Jihoon is smiling, like he knows something Seungcheol doesn’t. The confidence of his voice is betraying the pink in his cheeks, “Is that a confession?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol replies automatically, still panting. At the same time, it’s as if some sort of weight has just left his shoulders, “Yes, it is.”

There’s a sort of silence between them, a soft one that allows them to bask into the small sounds of the faint calm music playing in the distance. The colors of the sky are beginning to shift from a light yellow to a peachy orange, and Seungcheol thinks briefly that’s the color of love.

“Good,” Jihoon says with a breathy laugh, “Then you better begin packing up.”

 

(Seungcheol doesn’t know yet, but the happiness that paints the smile he returns to Jihoon makes that every barrier that has been stopping him from surrender to Seungcheol’s pretty words simply fell down instantly.)

 

 

Jihoon never directly replies to Seungcheol’s confession in May until leaves begin to fall in October. It’s the 19th; they’re on a bridge, leaning against a rail as they look down at the Thames River in London. It’s peaceful, rain producing splashing sounds as cars speed by the wet surfaces and the sound of Seungcheol’s gentle voice speaking of something that Jihoon wasn’t paying attention to anymore. It’s sudden, an urge Jihoon didn’t know he had in him when he reaches down to intertwine his hand with Seungcheol’s free one, interrupting what he was saying.

“I love you too.”

Seungcheol looks down at him to find Jihoon smiling back at him, eyes shimmering under the orange lights of the street lamps. It’s cold, he can feel the wind between them seeping under his clothes, but he doesn’t know if he’s shivering due to lack of warmness or if it’s the way Jihoon voices his feelings, lovingly and sincere, that makes his legs freeze and his mind draw to a blank, as if time has just stopped.

Jihoon doesn’t demand for a reply and neither expects it, as if he knew Seungcheol’s ears would go red in embarrassment with a shaky, overjoyed laugh following after. He doesn’t look surprised either when Seungcheol tightens his grip in Jihoon’s hand, as he let his free hand curl softly around the small of his back, pulling him closer and kissing him until they couldn’t feel an inch of free space between each other, laughing between their lips.

 

Under the street lights, Seungcheol can feel a light melody pouring out of his heart while Jihoon can feel sweet lyrics pouring out of his skin.

 

 

\--

 

 

It’s an afternoon like any other – Jihoon sitting by the grand piano, the one from the café, fingers tracing along the keys easily, melodies already recorded and burned on the back of his mind waiting for being played over and over again. It’s what Jihoon does – he’s not as good with words, but he writes stories and pieces that never needed words – and Seungcheol thinks that it’s beautiful.

In the beginning, Seungcheol didn’t understand Jihoon and vice versa. It was unconceivable in his mind that someone could write without words.

Nowadays though, it’s Seungcheol who finds it difficult to put his thoughts into words.

His works have found their way again into pleasant and lovable stories, of the kind that he likes and that his public is able to like too. Jimin is keeping her hard stares these days only for his other colleagues, unable to hide the fact that she’s proud that Seungcheol has been finding his way into writing again, even if it’s not what she had in mind before. Still proud nonetheless, even disposing of her time to actually celebrate his first book release on the tiny office.

During his presentations on the nightly slam poetry, he finds his words resonating louder and clearer. Fellow contestants and rappers find themselves in awe at Seungcheol’s - no, S.Coups’ - improvement, congratulating him at the end of his stages, that seem to become slowly popular, echoes of applause cheering him on as he stays late at night thinking of the words he wants to deliver on the next night.

 

Even then, there’s one problem that still remains the same.

After all this time, Seungcheol still doesn’t know how to write about Jihoon.

 

All of the words feels slurred and mismatched once they’re sliding against the paper, faint sounds of the pen colliding with paper leaving an intoxicating smell of ink hanging in the air, no expressions or synonyms being able to capture all of the colors and shapes he sees in the younger.

While it’s a lost battle, it isn’t necessarily a mourned one.

It’s with ease in his heart that Seungcheol comes to learn that he doesn’t need to put everything he sees into words. Some things are meant to be free, meant to be poetry outside of words, sweet melodies flying with the breeze, an indistinguishable sense of beauty blooming in with the words he’s beginning to learn when Jihoon sings them to him.

Because that’s what Jihoon is meant to - to fly, to be the wind, to touch people’s hearts with his music.

That sensation of loving unwritten words is what makes Seungcheol love Jihoon the way he does – Jihoon brings meaning to all of the things he couldn’t see or hear before, introducing him every day to a whole new world made of different sensations.

 

Maybe his feelings are like petals of flowers dancing with the wind – his feelings for Jihoon being the most beautiful poetry he’ll never be able to put into words.

 

 

 

**_Uitwaaien_ **

_(Origin) Dutch_

_(v) To take a break to clear one's head;_

_Lit. "To walk in the wind"_


End file.
